


Faerie Mischief

by KuriKuri



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Fae & Fairies, Fae Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Minor Dub-Con Themes, Witch Scott McCall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:13:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5053642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuriKuri/pseuds/KuriKuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Scott…” Melissa sighs, rubbing a hand over her temples. “I’m happy that you were trying to do the right thing. I’m proud of you, but fae are dangerous.”</p><p>“You’re not going to kick him out, are you?” Scott asks, concerned, and Melissa looks back at him with her lips pressed in a tight, unhappy line. Then she sighs.</p><p>“No,” she relents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faerie Mischief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aqualewdity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aqualewdity/gifts).



> Details about the sort-of dub-con in the end notes.

Scott McCall tries to ignore the whispers just barely out of his earshot and the stares boring into the back of his skull as he walks through the center of town. It happens every time, and he tries to tell himself it’s gotten easier, but he’s honestly not sure it has, even though it’s been going on his entire life.

Still, it’s something you have to get used to eventually, he supposes, when you’re the son of the resident witch – and also a witch in training yourself.

“Scott!” someone exclaims as he enters the bakery, and he looks up to see Mason leaning over the wooden countertop. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

“Mason,” Scott greets, smiling slightly. Mason, the baker’s apprentice, is one of the few people in the village who doesn’t bother trying to keep Scott and his mother at arm’s length (except when they need a potion or cure, that is). “The rye was really good this time. I guess we just went through it quickly.”

“Back for more, then?” Mason asks with a wide smile, already moving to grab a loaf from the shelf behind him.

“Two loaves would be great,” Scott answers, rummaging around in his satchel for his coin purse. “And a sourdough one, also.”

“Got it,” Mason says, wrapping the loaves in crisp paper. “Are you picking up anything for Deaton today?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Scott replies easily, accepting the bread. “Mom’s been busy with the sickness that’s been going around, so I’ve been helping her more than Deaton.”

“Darn,” Mason sighs. “I was hoping you’d have a new trick to show me.”

“Hey, magic is serious business,” Scott protests, but he has to struggle to bite back a smile. “It’s not meant for entertainment.” He pauses. “Deaton did teach me this recently, though.”

He shifts the bread to place it carefully in his satchel before pushing his sleeves back, leaving his wrists unhampered. Then, he holds his right hand carefully away from his body and snaps. A bright burst of flame flickers for a moment before dissipating again.

“Intense,” Mason breathes, his eyes wide. Not for the first time, Scott wonders why he has the gift instead of Mason, who clearly yearns for it much more than he does. But fate, Scott supposes, works in strange ways.

“How much do I owe you?” Scott asks, opening his coin purse.

“Four pence,” Mason replies, accepting the coins Scott offers him. “Thank you for your patronage.”

“Thank you for the bread,” Scott replies with a nod before turning to head back out the door.

The walk back home isn’t terribly far, but the McCall house is still on the far edges of the village. Sometimes, to get there faster, Scott will take a shortcut through a small wooded stretch of land. If his mother knew, she’d probably yell at him for it, but he’s no longer a child, now broad-shouldered and capable of magic that’s useful for more than just simple entertainment.

However, as he walks along the small path he’s worn over his years of weaving between the trees, Scott is surprised to spy a figure blocking part of his way, slumped up against the base of a Rowan.

“Hello?” Scott calls as he approaches, speeding up a little when he figure does nothing more than groan weakly. “Are you alright?”

“Wha – ?” the stranger asks, blinking up at Scott blearily. Scott can’t help but find the young man’s appearance striking, with his soft, moonlight pale skin and eyes brighter than pure amber. There’s something about his appearance that makes Scott think of magic, delicate and ethereal.

However, he’s quickly distracted from those thoughts as his eyes catch the stain of bright red soaking the stranger’s tunic, slowly spreading across his midriff.

“What happened?” Scott blurts out, moving forward quickly to assess the damage.

“Played a trick on the wrong person,” the stranger mutters, but he allows Scott to pull up the edge of his tunic to expose the long series of gashes in his abdomen. Had Scott been thinking about anything other than the agony the young man in front of him must be feeling, he probably would have questioned why the gashes look so remarkably similar to claw marks, but in his panic, he hardly spares it a thought.

“Here, let’s get you to my house,” Scott insists, snaking an arm around the young man’s waist to help heft him to his feet. “My mother can help you.”

The stranger groans when Scott manages to get him standing up, gripping at Scott for support with surprising strength for someone so slim and injured. Briefly, Scott wonders if his paleness is less from blood loss and more just his natural state.

It takes long, painstaking steps, but eventually they make it the rest of the way to the McCall home, a small cottage on the very edge of the woods. Scott can feel a painful constriction of his lungs as they struggle the final distance into the house, though, and as soon as he lies the stranger down on his own bed, he fumbles for his bag. After a moment of struggle, he manages to dig out a small flask filled with a murky potion and knocks back a long swig with practiced motion.

A moment later, he feels the burning constriction in his lungs and throat dissipate, and not for the first time, he thanks his mother’s talent for medicinal potions. Which reminds him that he has a patient for her, still bleeding and lying prone on his bed.

“Mom!” he calls, voice echoing through the small cottage.

He receives no reply.

He bites his lip, looking back down at the young man sprawled out before him, face screwed up in pain. Scott steels himself and moves to strip off the stranger’s shirt before going to grab a basin of clean water and some unused strips of cloth bandage. He busies himself with cleaning the wounds.

However, when he dabs the gashes with a moistened cloth, he startled by a strong hand coming to clamp down on his wrist.

“Hey,” he says softly as he hears the stranger’s breathing quicken and become shallower with pain and surprise. “Hey, it’s alright. This is going to hurt a little, but I need to make sure it’s not going to get infected.”

The grip on his wrist loosens slightly, and Scott allows himself to clutch the stranger’s hand for a brief moment, brushing his thumb over the stranger’s knuckles in a soothing gesture he’s seen his mother use to calm patients before. Then he goes back to carefully cleaning the young man’s wounds. Once he’s satisfied, he binds the area until he’s certain the bleeding has been stopped.

Afterwards, he goes to retrieve some ingredients from his mother’s storage room and begins mixing a poultice, concentrating carefully on adding the appropriate amount of magic to accelerate the healing.

He returns to find the young man’s breathing deeper and more even. It shouldn’t really be a surprise that he’s passed out, but Scott can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at not even having the opportunity to learn the stranger’s name.

Scott busies himself with removing the bandages to apply the poultice and then binding the wound again. Through all of it, the stranger’s breathing barely stutters. For a moment afterwards, Scott finds himself staring at the young man, eyes tracing the plush curve of his mouth and the dark speckles marring his pale skin. As soon as it occurs to him what he’s doing, though, Scott averts his eyes, standing up abruptly and returning to the kitchen.

It’s there that he finally notices the note left on the rickety wooden table, informing him that his mother has gone into town on a house call. Scott sighs and settles in to watch over the stranger himself.

\---

“ _Scott_ ,” Melissa McCall hisses after coming back from checking on the stranger, her eyes wide and forehead creased with worry. “Scott, what could possibly have possessed you to bring a _faerie_ in here?”

“What?” Scott asks, frowning at her. “What faerie?”

“The one _sleeping in your bed_ ,” Melissa replies, and Scott can see her going through a mental checklist of the protective wards in and around the house. “Did you not see his ears?”

“I – I didn’t notice – ” Scott answers, peering through the doorway and into his room, where he can just barely make out the unnatural pointedness of the stranger’s ears, long, slim, and a little elf-like. “He was bleeding out and I – ”

“Scott…” Melissa sighs, rubbing a hand over her temples. “I’m happy that you were trying to do the right thing. I’m proud of you, but fae are dangerous.”

“You’re not going to kick him out, are you?” Scott asks, concerned, and Melissa looks back at him with her lips pressed in a tight, unhappy line. Then she sighs.

“No,” she relents, glancing back towards the sleeping faerie. “I’m a healer. That’s not what we do. But the minute he’s healed, I want him out, and in the meantime, be careful of him. He’s indebted to you now, so hopefully he won’t try anything, but don’t take anything he says or does at face value.”

“I’ll be careful,” Scott replies, feeling his shoulders loosen in relief.

“Because he’s a faerie, it looks like it should only take him a day or two to finish healing,” Melissa continues, and then her lips quirk up in a small smile. “You did a good job tending to his wounds. I have to go make another house call now, but if he wakes up when I’m gone, I want you to have him drink some water, alright?”

“Of course,” Scott says, nodding. “I can do that.”

“And if anything weird happens – and I mean _anything_ – I want you to go to Deaton immediately,” Melissa instructs him firmly. “He’s dealt with fae before.”

“I will, Mom,” Scott sighs, and Melissa smiles, kisses him on the forehead, grabs a few more supplies, and then leaves again.

However, it’s not until the door swings shut with a soft click that it finally starts to sink in for Scott that he’s alone with a faerie. An injured faerie, but a faerie no less.

“That’s your mom?” a raspy voice says suddenly, startling Scott. He whips around to peer at the faerie still lying in his bed, eyes open just wide enough for Scott to make out a small sliver of amber.

Scott has about a million questions whirling through his head at the moment, but what finally comes out of his mouth is, “You need to drink some water.”

“What water?” the faerie snorts, eyeing the basin of bloodied water Scott used to clean his wounds and hasn’t emptied yet.

“I’ll get you some,” Scott says quickly, turning to grab a pitcher and cup from the kitchen. As he darts outside to retrieve water from the small well out back, he tries to steady his heartbeat. He can’t remember if fae can hear heartbeats or not, but better safe than sorry, he supposes. Best not to show any weakness, no matter how vulnerable and delicate the faerie in his bed may look.

When he gets back, the faerie has somehow managed to struggle into a sitting position, and Scott rushes forward to help steady him without even really thinking about it.

“Thanks,” the faerie breathes, peering up at him through long, dark eyelashes. Scott is momentarily captivated by the piercing amber of his eyes. “Not just for – but also for saving me.”

“It wasn’t any trouble,” Scott answers automatically, and the faerie’s lips twitch up into a small smirk.

“You don’t have to coddle me,” the faerie laughs. “I’ve been reliably informed that I’m nothing _but_ trouble.”

Scott just shrugs in response, cheeks heating a little.

“What happened?” Scott finds himself asking, nodding towards the bandages secured tightly around the faerie’s midriff.

“Thought I’d have some fun and tug on a wolf’s tail a little,” the faerie replies, grimacing. “Turns out old man Hale still has a bit of a bite, though.”

Scott’s not sure which Hale the faerie means by “old man Hale,” but most of the village avoids Peter and Derek for good reason. Thankfully, they spend most of their time out in the charred ruins of the Hale house, deep in the thickest portion of the woods, so they’re fairly easy to avoid. Although not for troublemaking fae, apparently.

“Well, my mother says you should make a full recovery,” Scott says, tearing his eyes away from the smooth, pale skin of the faerie’s chest. “Just don’t go aggravating wolves again, I suppose.”

“I guess I can try,” the faerie says with a wide grin. “I’m Stiles, by the way.”

“Scott,” Scott replies automatically, before wondering if it’s wise to give a faerie his name.

“Scott,” Stiles repeats, the word sounding almost akin to a purr, and Scott can’t help but shiver. “Well thank you, Scott, for coming to my aid. I hope I can find a way to repay you.”

“It was nothing,” Scott mutters, his cheeks heating. “And you aren’t fully recovered yet anyway. You should drink some water.”

The change of topic isn’t terribly subtle, if the knowing glint in Stiles’ eyes is anything to go by, but he accepts the water Scott offers him. He gulps it down with his head tilted back, the pale, mole-dotted skin of his neck on display. Scott has to avert his eyes. He’s aware that part of what makes fae so dangerous is how attractive they are, but knowing that logically and being confronted with it are two entirely different situations.

“Uh, well, it would be great if you could finish off the pitcher,” Scott says awkwardly. “You lost a lot of fluids. I have to do some reading, though, so I’ll check back on you in a bit.”

“Reading?” Stiles asks, eyes bright and curiosity piqued.

“On basic growth accelerating spells,” Scott elaborates.

“You’re a witch, then?” Stiles questions, a certain glint in his eye.

“Witch-in-training,” Scott corrects automatically. “I still have a lot to learn before I’m granted the full title.”

“Mmm,” Stiles says, tone thoughtful. “You should read to me.”

“Read to you?” Scott repeats, blinking at Stiles in confusion.

“Yeah. You can read the stuff about growth accelerating spells aloud,” Stiles elaborates, making Scott frown at him slightly.

“Are you sure? It’s really not that interesting,” Scott replies, dubious. Still, he can’t think of any ulterior motive Stiles could have for listening to him read about spells that pretty much only relate to agriculture.

“I like learning,” Stiles says simply. “And it’s not like I have anything else to do, anyway.”

“Alright,” Scott concedes, tone still a little skeptical. He gets up to retrieve the book Deaton lent him and returns a few moments later, settling in and clearing his throat in preparation to read.

It’s a bit unnerving, feeling Stiles’ eyes on him as he reads – although, truth be told, it’s not entirely unpleasant. Still, Stiles seems genuinely interested in the information, occasionally interrupting Scott to ask questions.

In fact, it’s not until Scott hears the door opening, signaling his mother’s return, that he realizes that although they’ve long since finished the reading, he and Stiles have been talking long enough that, outside, darkness has descended.

“Shit, I should have started dinner,” Scott says, grimacing as he suddenly remembers all of his responsibilities.

“I suppose that’s my fault for trying to monopolize all your time,” Stiles replies with a grin and a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But can you blame me for wanting you all to myself?”

“Uh,” Scott stutters, blushing a little. “That’s, um. We can talk more once I finish making dinner?”

“No, go ahead,” Stiles says, waving him off. “I’m starting to get hungry anyway.”

“Right, I’ll be back in a bit,” Scott mutters, standing up from his chair. He feels Stiles’ eyes on him all the way out of the room.

He tries to ignore the echo of Stiles saying, “But can you blame me for wanting you all to myself?” for the rest of the night, and fails quite miserably.

\---

Part of Scott is almost disappointed to see that Stiles is able to stand with assistance in the morning, and is able to walk fairly steadily by himself by noon. It’s not unusual, of course, that Stiles would heal so quickly with his faerie physiology and the aid of Scott’s magic – in fact, it would be worrisome if he was doing any worse than he is. Still, Scott know that this means Stiles will probably be gone come sunset.

“You know, we still haven’t figured out how I’m going to repay you,” Stiles says when they step outside for some fresh air. Stiles is wearing one of Scott’s tunics, since his own had been shredded, and it hangs off his frame loosely, a little too large for his slim frame.

“Stiles, I thought I said you don’t have to,” Scott sighs, a little annoyed that Stiles keeps bringing it up. Maybe it’s fae thing, though, and he’s treading on some sort of custom.

“Yes, but what if I want to,” Stiles breathes, and suddenly Stiles seems a lot closer than he just was, barely any space between the two of them. Scott finds himself glancing down at Stiles’ lips for a split second, which apparently doesn’t go unnoticed by Stiles, who smirks, his amber eyes going dark.

And then Stiles leans in, pressing his lips to Scott’s. Scott can’t help but gasp a little as Stiles seems to press his entire body against Scott’s and deepens the kiss, taking the opportunity Scott’s gasp gives him to lick inside Scott’s mouth. Scott moans, hands moving automatically, one dipping under the edge of Stiles’ tunic to brush against the smooth skin there.

“Scott,” Stiles breathes, pulling away from Scott for a moment, cheeks a little flushed and somehow even more beautiful than ever. “Scottie, we should head back to my place. Let me thank you properly.”

Scott’s head feels a little clouded, lust-dazed, almost, and he finds himself following Stiles’ lips. He kisses Stiles again, deep and wet, before breaking the kiss and breathing, “ _God_ yes,” against Stiles’ lips. Stiles grins again and dives back in for another kiss, a hand coming up to tangle in Scott’s hair as he slowly moves them backwards. Scott follows easily, but –

– but then he feels something brush against his leg, startling him. He breaks away from Stiles and looks down to find a bush brushing up against his calf. He looks around, eyes widening as he realizes that Stiles has already guided him a small ways past the forest line, into the trees and brush.

“Are you trying to kidnap me?” Scott blurts out, scrambling back from Stiles, his mind clearing as he stumbles back into the small clearing in front of his house.

“I told you, Scott, I like you,” Stiles huffs, but doesn’t deny Scott’s accusation. “I _want_ you.”

“You don’t – you can’t just – ” Scott says, trying not to let his eyes be drawn to the swollen pink of Stiles’ kiss-bruised lips.

“Why not?” Stiles asks, lips turning down in something like a pout. He moves closer to Scott, who can’t quite bring himself to step away. “I just want to repay you. I’d treat you well.”

He punctuates his promise with a hot kiss to Scott’s neck, blunt teeth scraping over Scott’s sensitive skin.

“No, I – I want to stay here,” Scott replies, but shivers under Stiles’ touch and doesn’t try to push him away. “I like this realm.”

“You like it here?” Stiles snorts, pulling back briefly and giving Scott a skeptical look. “Where they treat you and your mother like contagious plague victims, despite all you do for them? None of the fae mind witches – unless you aggravate them, of course.”

“I can’t leave my mother on her own,” Scott protests, trying to ignore the warmth of Stiles’ skin under his hand as he attempts to form an argument.

“She’s a grown witch,” Stiles retorts, quirking an eyebrow at Scott.

“But I can’t – she shouldn’t have to be all alone,” Scott replies as Stiles moves to bite bruises against his collarbone again, making Scott’s breath stutter in his chest. “I can’t just vanish.”

“You’re sure you won’t come with me?” Stiles murmurs against Scott’s skin, snaking a hand down to palm Scott’s cock, half-hard in his pants.

Scott shakes his head, unable to quite form words.

“Then maybe I’ll have to stay a little longer and convince you,” Stiles says, and slips a hand inside Scott’s pants.

\---

Three months later, Scott still hasn’t been convinced, but Stiles has yet to cease trying.

**Author's Note:**

> Stiles, as a fae, tries to seduce Scott back to the fae realm, and in a few brief moments it's a little hard to tell if Scott has been enchanted or acting of his own free will.


End file.
